Ferie dearest, was it loe soothfast or a façade;
A serenade siren´d to lure - Zounds! not to court me?
A menad, yet the sweetest colleen -
Certes didst thou me unveil meekly life pristine.

{Refrain:}
Lorelei,
A poet of tragedies, scribe I lauds to Death,
Yet who the hell was I to dare?
Lorelei,
Canst thou not see thou to me needful art?
Canst thou not see the loss of loe painful is?

Dedally didst thou perform the tragic pasquinade,
For all years a damndest and driegh´d accolade -
Caus´d for all eyes mazed to behold a mêlee;
In the midst did I swainly cast thee my bouquet:
The one and sole faggot that feedeth the fire,
Bellow´d bidingly by my heart´s quailing quire.

{au Refrain}

Perchance author I thee this ikon´d apologue for aught,
Doth the wecht burthen thee?, then bethink thine afterthought:
´Tween Aether and ´Nether art thou the peerless phoenix -
Prithee, darlingmost! - court me rather than the peevish prolix.